


A Ray Of Light in the Moondance

by bastanubis29



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Chanyeol's a ghost, College AU (sorta), Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, General fluff, M/M, cuteness, lowkey inspired by a fic by superblondie, nothing angsty bc I'm not there emotionally yet, this has been sitting in my drafts forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastanubis29/pseuds/bastanubis29
Summary: He doesn't remember much. Scratch that, he doesn't remember anything at all, and it's been a long time since he's felt anything. Maybe Baekhyun can change that.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Ray Of Light in the Moondance

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all are staying happy and healthy during whatever your governments are doing about Corona. Hopefully all of this goes away soon so we can get back to our normal lives, but I'm going to take this time to try and complete some of my drafts.

It’s easy for him to sit in the corner by himself, watching as everything else happens around him. He’ll doodle in his notebook, write down a couple of phrases and lines that hit him while he sits, surrounded by people living different, vibrant lives.

That’s how it goes when you’re dead, he supposes. There’s so much time to watch other people that he forgets his own life. 

He has no memory of who he used to be, even his name has left him. And he’s strangely okay with that. In a weird way, it’s comfortable, the anonymity from even himself. The only thing that he really knows is that he’s dead.

So he gets used to being looked through, he gets used to speaking aloud to himself and no one being able to hear him, and he gets used to floating through matter in a way that seems to be random. For example, he’s able to perch on the edge of this couch, but he floated through the door to get in the room.

The music surrounding him is loud, though his senses have been dulled from disuse. He’s watching everyone around him in puzzlement. Parties weren’t like this where he was from; not loud and dark and crowded, with people dancing up on one another, red cups in hand.

He bends down to make note of this small revelation in his notebook (it helps him to remember, though he doesn’t know how and when he got the notebook), hands shaking as he methodically writes it down.

It’s a lonely existence, surrounded by people but with no one to hear him. For whatever reason, that seems familiar to some far back part of his mind. (He’s sad for that past him, the living him that was as lonely in life as he is in death.)

He snaps the notebook shut, standing in his strange floaty kind of way, and makes for the door, careful not to float through anyone. It was uncomfortable when he did, and it took him days to feel normal again afterwards.

Thankfully, the crowd seems to part around him, and he is easily able to reach the door.

“Leaving already?” A voice to his left says, and he turns out of some buried habit from back when he was alive, expecting someone to be speaking through him.

Caramel eyes are looking at him, not through him, and something in his chest feels like it stops, though his heart hasn’t beat for years, probably.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around campus before,” the other boy continues. “I’d remember a face like yours.”

He falters; he hasn’t spoken to anyone since before he died and he almost can’t remember how. It is only ages of talking out loud to himself that keeps him from forgetting how to speak entirely.

“I don’t go here,” he manages.

“That’s a shame, I’d really like to get to know you better.”

He’s starting to panic now; how is he supposed to respond to that. 

“I’m sorry, this is probably a really weird question, but you can see me? And hear me?”   
The other boy looks at him in puzzlement. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be able to?”

“Well, you see, I’m dead.”

The other boy blinks. “Well, that’s a line that I've never heard before. I’m intrigued, though, in a weirdly morbid kind of way. What do you mean, you’re dead?”   
“I died. And now I just kind of exist. You’re actually the first person who’s ever been able to see me, as far as I know. And you probably look really weird just talking to thin air.”

“Not the weirdest thing I’ve ever done, but thanks for your concern. You’re dead; that’s… kind of wild. I’m Baekhyun, by the way.”

“I don’t remember my name, but it’s nice to meet you.”

Baekhyun smiles at him, and it’s so bright that he’s afraid that he’s going to combust. “Maybe we should go somewhere else, somewhere a little bit quieter, but also where I won’t look as crazy talking to you.”

He nods.

“My dorm’s not far,” Baekhyun says. “Not that I’m trying to get you back to my place, but it’s a little more private than here.”

“That sounds okay.”

“Cool.” And Baekhyun pushes open the door for him, which is kind of nice, considering that it’s probably been years since anyone ever thought about him at all.

They walk-- well, Baekhyun walks, he floats-- down the street to another set of dorm buildings, and swipes them in.

He feels more corporeal than ever, so he tries pushing the elevator button. It works, and he smiles in happiness before once again realizing that it was a fluke.

“Do you remember anything?” Baekhyun asks him conversationally, and he shakes his head.

“I think I maybe did, once. But everything’s gone now. Anything I try to remember feels hazy. Cloudlike.”

Baekhyun nods with a weight that suggests that he knows exactly what he’s talking about, though Baekhyun can’t, because he’s sure that he’s never met anyone who’s more alive.

“Well, I’m not exactly interested in the whole life story. Just a name would do.”

“I don’t remember it,” he replies easily, a gentle reminder.

“Oh, I know,” Baekhyun laughs. “Talking to myself a bit there. Guess we’ll just have to give you a name.” He taps his chin as he takes off his shoes at the door he’s just unlocked. “How about Chanyeol?”

Something’s fuzzing in his chest now, almost like a familiarity with the word that’s just left Baekhyun’s lips. But that’s impossible, because there’s no way that Baekhyun could have just guessed his name that easily.

“Chanyeol,” he repeats, tasting the word and the way it weighs his tongue. “It feels… right, somehow.”

“Chanyeol it is, then.” Baekhyun smiles again, and Chanyeol feels like he has to close his eyes as bright as it is.

They’ve made their way into Baekhyun’s dorm fully now, and Chanyeol glides over the slightly dirty floor to hover awkwardly by the bed.

“My roommate’s home for the weekend,” Baekhyun says, hoisting himself up onto the bed. He pats the space beside him, and Chanyeol floats to settle on top of the mattress.

They talk for a few hours, lazing together in the dimness of Baekhyun’s desk lamp until Baekhyun’s yawns begin to overtake his smiles.

“I should go. Let you sleep,” Chanyeol says, rising a small amount to exit in what he hopes is a graceful manner.

“Don’t,” Baekhyun says, reaching out to wrap a hand around Chanyeol’s wrist. Instead of clamping around flesh, it goes through. “Oh. That’s freaky.”

Chanyeol shivers, the attempt at human touch making something flow through what he assumes is his ghostly nervous system. “Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“No,” Baekhyun shakes his head. “No class on Sunday.”

“Is it Sunday?”

“Yes,” the word is slow to leave Baekhyun’s lips. “Did you not know that?”

If there were still blood in Chanyeol’s veins, he’s sure that he would be blushing. As it is, he’s embarrassed enough to stare at the ground in shame and mumble out a quiet ‘no’.

“I’m not making fun of you,” Baekhyun’s gentle voice says.

“I know,” Chanyeol whispers.

“Then stay,” Baekhyun’s voice is quiet, so quiet that Chanyeol has to lean in to hear it.

Baekhyun’s cheeks are dusted with a pink blush, and it’s so delicate and pretty that Chanyeol yearns to touch in a way he’s never yearned for anything before. So he tries, and he watches as his hand bridges the distance between them.

For an instant, Baekhyun’s breath catches in his throat. Chanyeol’s fingers brush his cheek, and Baekhyun’s chest feels tight.

Chanyeol exhales, shaky, though he doesn’t need to breathe. Baekhyun’s skin is the faintest warmth beneath his fingers, and though Chanyeol can barely feel it, he’s already addicted to it. 

“Cold,” Baekhyun sighs, but his eyes slip shut as Chanyeol’s palm fits the curve of his cheek.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol breathes, and the yearning takes over his entire body until he’s leaning in to press his lips against the other boy’s.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanations for why I chose to end it like that. It just does. 
> 
> Comments keep me motivated, especially during this tough time.


End file.
